Date: Tue, 19 Apr 2011 12:44:28 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bob Archman
Subject: Catfish goes to School 9
Catfish goes to School 9
By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or
bothers you DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a
discussion of safe sex. If you have comments send them to
bldhrymn@yahoo.com
Walking back to my apartment, I felt a sting in the shoulder, sort of like
a bee or a wasp. It took me a second or two to realize that was unlikely
and another second to realize I was passing out. When I woke up, I was
tied to a chair in a darkened room. I could hear men talking in the next
room. One of the voices was Gerald III. He was whining.
"I told you to get him and we have him now!" Gerald said. "He works for
that fucking Bishop. We need him out of the way."
"Kidnapping is a different matter than a clean kill," another voice said.
"At least dead men don't talk. If he gets out were done for!"
"Let's be real, you didn't do that well killing Frank Putney and
Wilda-beast is still alive too, isn't he?" Gerald whined. "I paid top
dollar to get these men killed. That red-neck ass-wipe in the next room has
been the fly in the ointment."
"Are you sure about that?" the other man asked. "As far as I can tell he's
a janitor who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"He was at the fire in the art building, helped break up the attack on
Frank Putney and at the Bishop's side during the board meeting," Gerald
said. He looks like shit, but he looked like a Pit-Bull ready to
strike. There was something nasty in his eyes."
"Let's see if we can wake him up and find out what we can get out of him,"
Gerald said. "Put on your mask." A second or two later two masked men
entered the room. Gerald slapped my face. I was still groggy and had no
problem playing groggy.
"Wake up, Sleeping beauty," the other man said.
"Where in hell am I?" I moaned. "Damn I need to take a piss. I feel like
shit." All of that was true and required no acting at all. Gerald hit me
again.
"Randy and Bull, come in here and take this sack of crap to the pisser. I
don't want this guy to stink the place up."
One very large man and his small friend came into the room. They wore masks
too. They got me out of the chair and man handled me to the bathroom. The
room I had been in was a storage room with old furniture piled here and
there. The bathroom was fancy. I had thought I was in a shack somewhere,
but this was a whirlpool and walk-in shower place. It reminded me of the
Playboy pads of the 1980s. It was in an expensive house.
"Don't untie him!" Gerald ordered.
The big guy, who I assumed was Bull, carried me to the toilet. The smaller
man unzipped me and went fishing for my cock. This may sound superficial,
but my cock tends to make friends easily. I had an early morning piss
hard. I wasn't 100% hard, but my 50% erection is pretty good. Randy pulled
it out and then pulled back the foreskin.
"Look at that thing," Bull said under his breath.
I had a full bladder so the boys had a long, uninterrupted time to
look. They liked what they saw. Randy, the smaller man stroked my cock a
few times. He seemed to understand the recreational potential. He zipped me
up and Bull dragged me back to the storage room. Bull and Randy were very
country; I assumed they were muscle for hire. I wondered if they had any
idea what they had gotten themselves into. They weren't local. Their
accents were West Virginia, not Blue Ridge.
Gerald hit me a few dozen times, once between each question, but then he
seemed to lose interest. I was a janitor and that was my story. Gerald and
his friend had to leave, so I was alone with Bull and Randy. Gerald told
them to keep on questioning me.
I had a chance to do a little history lesson. I told them I lived in the
Headmistress's garage and so was around all the time. The boys were
clueless and knew nothing about Frank's mugging. I told them I walked into
it by accident and the muggers threw me into a bush. I also mentioned the
men who did it were found shot and burned a few days later.
Bull and Randy weren't brain surgeon material, but that they didn't like at
all. They were pondering this when we had visitors. I could recognize the
voices of Gerald IV and Dee Dee. I suspect Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette
were a bit more down home than Gerald and Dee Dee. They were frank in their
lack of admiration for me and my physical attractiveness.
Gerald hit me a few times while combining obscenities in new ways to
express my ugliness. Cuts on the head tend to bleed a lot so I was
beginning to look like hamburger. He didn't ask any questions so the blows
were just recreational for him. Dee Dee slapped me around some, but she was
careful not to damage her nails. She had them done the day before for a
party that evening. She didn't like my blood on her hands either. They said
no one had noticed my disappearance and they took that as confirmation of
my insignificance.
"I'm a fucking janitor," I said. "Why would anyone notice?"
They were rude to Randy, calling him a pipsqueak, but a bit nicer to Bull.
Bull was too big to take for granted. Dee Dee and Gerald IV laughed about
the fire and the distress of their fellow students. "Did you see Marti
crying, "Oh, I never get in school without a portfolio! All my work is
gone!" Dee Dee said.
"Dad said he would give the school that takes me a new building," Gerald
said. "It worked here, and he hasn't even produced the building yet. I told
him Wilda-beast was getting suspicious." Gerald hit me a few times more and
after a half hour, they left.
That no one had noticed I was gone was a relief to me. At Catfish & Company
we keep in contact with every operative in the field; I had not called in
that night. We all have a little button on our key chains that sends a beep
to the office, if we can't call in. I am regular as clockwork about that,
so missing a contact would have raised red flags at the office. With
several operatives in Randall all ready, they would have had no problem
checking up on me. We usually keep the disappearance of an operative quiet
as long as possible. This would be normal operating procedure. We like to
lull our adversaries into a false sense of security.
I assumed the main office was on the ball and searching for me. The local
police were on the ball too. I later found out there had been an event at
the Sikh girl's room just before dawn. A drunk tried to get in. Melissa,
the head of the Student Council had the girl staying with her in another
part of the dorm. In place of the intended victim were four Women's field
hockey players and their sticks. Sally, my operative was playing janitor in
the hall.
The drunk who was paid to attack the girl and was told the girl "needed a
real man bad." This had been before midnight, and the drunk had spent the
intervening hours drinking courage. The man was halfway through the window
when the hockey players struck.
They weren't understanding and had no tendency to be tolerant, but they
were models of restraint compared to Sally. Sally wanted information. While
the drunk tried to bluff his way out of it, that wasn't in the cards. Sally
asked if any of the girls had ever dissected a frog before. One of the
girls volunteered she had done a science project on the reproductive system
of a frog.
"Do you have a scalpel?" Sally asked. The girls said no.
"Well, I have a pen knife," Sally said. "It's sharp enough." Several
minutes later, the drunk told all.
He confessed a person named Jerry gave him $500.00 to attack the girl. They
met in a bar and went to a big, fancy house on the side of Martin's
Mountain. Jerry had assured him the girl wanted it. They found $467.00 on
the drunk, and assumed the rest had been paid for booze. He also had a
card from a man named Latimer Ridley with a Pennsylvania phone number. They
turned the drunk and this information over to the police. Sally had already
set out to see if I was at my apartment and discovered I was missing. She
also made contact with Wally who had been with me earlier that evening.
Wally was at the police station when they brought in the erstwhile rapist
and he realized Latimer Ridley was a fake name. Latimer and Ridley were
fellow martyrs with Thomas Cranmer in Renaissance England. By noon, the
computers found a property owned by Latimer Ridley on the side of Martin's
Mountain. My office had two crews of hikers in town ready to search.
Catfish & Company does a lot of work for Cultural organizations. We provide
protection against muggers, pickpockets and similar low life, but we can
also mingle in the audience and can be decoys too. While we always
protected our own, the first obligation was to our clients.
My office staff is made up of ex-cops, private investigator types and
business people. The field staff covers every base. By the afternoon we had
our own people in the bars chatting up the locals; we had culture vultures
wandering the streets and shops before they went to the big choral event
that evening, and hikers wandering the hills.
I was tied up and in a storage room and I had no idea what was going on,
but I had my own project, Bull and Randy. I had sown seeds of doubt and it
was time to make them grow. The visit from Gerard IV and Dee Dee was not a
success. The boys didn't like being treated like dirt. Dee Dee commented
that she didn't understand why Gerald's father only hired stupid
trolls. She was into gratuitous insults and Bull and Randy didn't take it
well. Gerald commented that at least they were disposable. He was trying to
be cool, but there were three burned bodies illustrating the extent of
disposable.
When they left, I went on about the dead men, saying I didn't know if they
were dead before or after the fire. I told them I had heard one had inhaled
flames, so he must have come to after the fire was set. The phone rang.
It was Gerry telling them they wouldn't be back until after dark. He said
Randall was filled with visitors and it was too risky to move in the
daylight.
"Are you at the hide out?" Randy asked. The answer apparently was
affirmative. Randy hung up.
"I hope Gerald is paying you a lot for this," I said. "He has big bucks to
pay his way out of things."
"$10,000.00," Bull said.
"Well that works out to $500.00 per year in jail if you get caught," I
explained.
"Shut up," Bull ordered. He sounded firm, but he was thinking. Math wasn't
his strong suit, but he was working it out in his mind.
After ten minutes of silence, I asked if I could go to the bathroom
again. This time Bull lifted me out of the chair gently as if he were
afraid he might hurt me. I took a stab in the dark.
"Bull, you're not the kind of man who needs to tie a guy up to do some
damage," I said. "You can win in a fair fight, can't you?"
"I sure as hell can!" he replied.
"Bull's a real man," Randy said. "This isn't what we thought we were
getting into. We were supposed to scare someone, rough them up a little,
not kidnap them."
"I wonder if they picked you out to be the fall guys," I mused. "They hired
you to rough up a guy, then they switch to a felony, kidnapping, and I bet
they plan to kill me eventually. They are rich; they can fly away to some
distant land and you are left holding the bag in a state that likes lethal
injections. Murder for hire is on the list of capital crimes."
"Shit, we're up shit creek!" Randy said. He was the brighter of the two.
"I'm thinking you boys haven't actually done anything to me yet. You
haven't laid a hand on me in anger," I said. "I think you have been
tricked. You were hired to do one thing, but they switched the job and now
you are looking at hard time. Being hired to teach a guy a lesson ain't the
same as kidnapping and murder. I think you can get out of this."
"How?" Bull asked.
"You were ticked and when you discovered that you helped me," I said. "If
you were to tell the truth to the police, you could help them get the real
bad guys."
"I don't think they would believe us," Randy said.
"You have a witness, an impartial witness."
"Who?" they both asked.
"Me," I replied. "If I get out of this alive, I have a good reason to be
grateful. I will try to help you."
"What if you are just tricking us?" Bull asked.
"That lethal injection requires a dead body. As long as I am alive, you are
in better shape than if I am dead. I've never shot and burned up anybody.
You are safer with me than with your other playmates."
We were in the bath now and Randy was unzipping me. I hadn't had anything
to drink since the evening before, but I produced a modest amount of
piss. Randy seemed to be more interested in my cock than the last time.
"Randy likes piss sometimes," Bull whispered in my ear.
"I'm out of the golden juice, but I may have some of the white, creamy
stuff if he likes it," I said. Randy was stroking my cock and I was fully
erect. They both liked that.
"He likes the cream, but not as much as I do," Bull said. "I like it in the
mouth. Randy likes it in the ass."
Somehow, we changed from a captive and two guards to a trio of sex crazed
horn dogs in heat in seconds. I assumed Randy was into man sex big time and
Bull could take it or leave it. Randy was more adventurous and forward, but
Bull truly loved cock. Fortunately, Bull was also a size queen. When his
lips touched my cock, it was as if he had died and gone to heaven.
We had fifteen minutes of wild and crazy sex. Randy wanted me in his ass.
I was a few sizes bigger than he had taken, but he was game. Bull loved to
watch. They liked it natural, bare back and spit lubricated.
Randy and Bull sixty-nined, with Bull rimming Randy's ass between licking
my knob. It took ten minutes for me to get into Randy's quivering hole. It
was rough but Randy never lost his erection. I think Randy had a prehensile
ass. Once I was in, he played with me. I climaxed quickly, shooting one
volley deep in Randy and then pulling out and feeding the rest to
Bull. Everyone was happy.
We got dressed and then I got them to settle down and face reality. I was
sure Gerald planned for Bull and Randy to take the fall for my kidnapping
and eventual murder. I got them to tell me all, in exchange for me putting
in a good word for them with the Sheriff. I was going to call the Sheriff
when my guys knocked on the door. I heard a woman's voice asking for
directions. It was my operative Helen Jones. They were playing hikers and
purported to be lost and needing direction.
Bull and Randy didn't know what hit them, but I was good to my word and
they went off to the police to tell their tale. I went with them to ease
the way. I told the police they had been tricked, and wanted nothing to do
with the crime. Both men were too scared to lie, and they got brownie
points for that. They also had heard more than they realized. They knew of
three other foot soldiers. They had names and descriptions.
The Police began to organize a raid on the in town hideout. It was in an
old factory on the edge of town. I wanted to go to my apartment, clean up
and get back to work, but Calhoun took me to the hospital instead. They
professionally cleaned me up and gave me a few stitches. It was mostly bad
bruises and two cracked ribs. Calhoun then took me to my apartment were
Aunt Sarah and my mother were waiting with Mr. and Mrs. Putney. My second
on command, Johnnie Williams appeared to direct our operations and
coordinate with the cops. Johnnie was a good man, but I thought of him as a
pencil pusher. I underestimated him. He was firmly in command and
coordinating with the police. He was efficient and firmly in control. I
wanted to get to work but they wouldn't let me leave.
"Let me be frank, Catfish. In your current state, you are scary. No one
could see you and not know something is very wrong. You need to direct
things," Mrs. Putney explained. "You look like Frankenstein after a bad
night." I looked in a mirror. She was right. I didn't want to agree with
her, but she was right. The choral performance was in an hour. Everyone
left except for Mom and Johnnie. I fell asleep.
I slept for twelve hours straight. Apparently, 30 or 40 people came through
my apartment, and I slept though it all. Mom made coffee, distributed
doughnuts and made breakfast for the crew. Frank Putney was much recovered
and he did some of the cooking duties with my mother. We had an impressive
outbreak of brownies and cookies form the girls' dorms. Wilda-beast was
out of commission, but Mrs. Wildhurst ( Wilda-beasts wife) sent her cooks
and household staff over to help Mrs. Putney deal with the social
demands. There was a round of receptions and teas associated with the
week's events and they went on as normal.
While the school events went on without incident or confusion, behind the
scenes the police and Catfish & Company were busy. Police operations went
on like clockwork as I slept. The raid captured Latimer Ridley, but missed
Gerald III. Latimer Ridley was the Reverend Cannon Eustace
Smyth-Wilson. His real name was John Eustace Wilson, and the hyphen, as
well as the title were self-awarded. He was a nasty piece of work, but
since his was in his early 70s, he had no desire to spend the rest of his
life in jail. He was one of those men who knew everything, but was
responsible for nothing. His plan was to blame everything on Gerald III and
give enough detail to make anything short of the Electric Chair seem
inadequate.
Elsewhere, one of my men foiled an effort to set off a smoke bomb at the
choral event with the aid of Killer-poo, my bomb sniffing
Cock-a-poo. Killer-poo had the endearing characteristic of leaving the
perpetrator with permanent bite marks on his or her legs. The bomber
knocked my man over so he was slow in calling Killer-poo off. The
perpetrator, a minor thug from Roanoke, needed 123 stitches.
Killer poo was a cute, cuddly, ragamuffin of a dog, playful, good with
children and old people. It was the scent of explosives that set him
off. One man tried to sue us for gratuitous cruelty after an abortive pipe
bomb attack. He was laughed out of court when Killerpoo entered the court
room. Killer-poo wore pink bows in his hair for court appearances.
By the time I went to bed Tuesday night, everyone associated with the plot
was in jail, except for Gerald III. Bull and Randy gave reliable
information to Calhoun. Eustace was lying through his teeth. The rapist
was telling all. Gerald IV was in the County lock up, as was the charming
Dee Dee.
Johnnie arranged that one of my operatives be a cellmate for Gerald and
another for Dee Dee. Tony DeMarco was a gifted painter form the Bronx, but
he sounded like a cast member from the Sopranos. He got Gerald into a
bragging contest over who was the most hard-boiled.
Tony discovered Gerald IV had slipped Wilda-beast a Mickey that induced the
heart attack. Gerald didn't know it was intended to kill him. He thought it
was to put him out of commission for a few days with food poisoning.
Wilda-beast was an ox of a man and survived. Gerald was also feeding his
father information for the dirty tricks.
Gerald IV was a pussycat compared to Dee Dee. Helen Jones, my fake hiker,
bunked with Dee Dee in the county jail. Helen could play the country girl
and gave the impression of being a total ditz. She pretended to be
awestruck by Dee Dee's beauty and sophistication. Dee Dee ate that up. Dee
Dee saw herself as a master puppeteer. She pulled the strings as others did
her bidding.
"Dee Dee isn't the brightest light bulb in Bloomingdale's window you know,"
Julia explained. "She thinks that only the person who committed the act is
guilty of the crime. She doesn't know that conspiracy is a crime too. She
preys on the weak and the lost. She looks for the deeply troubled or
vulnerable girl to do her dirty work. Of course, she ditches them as soon
as the deed is done. One of her minions tried to commit suicide afterwards.
Dee Dee thought that was funny."
We began pulling our people out of Randall on Wednesday. Only Gerald III
was at large and his car had been spotted in Northern Virginia, heading
north. I assumed he was heading for Thailand or some South American
country. Things settled down in Randall and the end of the semester events
proceeded without a problem.
I returned to Richmond, but I left several operatives at the school, just
in case.
Three weeks later, I had to go back to made statements to the police for
the record. There was an oversupply of confessions, and they needed help
deciding which were real. Several men confessed to lesser charges, hoping
to avoid the major crimes.
Bull and Randy had been consistently truthful and helpful. The Police chief
told me they would be given a suspended sentence and would serve no jail
time. The drunk had a history of sexual misconduct, and would be out of
commission for years. I did six hours of statements, and we decided to
resume the next morning.
Calhoun had plans for the night that very much included me.